


Red Robin

by greerian



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash, Tumblr: otpprompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 18:23:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5550698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greerian/pseuds/greerian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kevin can be a self-centered asshole, Arnold knows, but he's rarely an other-person-centered one. But that doesn't keep him from falling apart after a moment with the waiter, apparently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Robin

**Author's Note:**

> Ha, so, first things first: I kind of tried to write this like a sitcom (read: cheesy, funny, ridiculous). Please don't look too hard for meaning in this. 
> 
> Second: Kevin's a dick, Connor's repressed, and Arnold wants to be the center of attention, this is nothing new.  
> And this was prompted by an otpprompts thing that I can no longer find, sorry :( But yeah... enjoy, I guess.  
> (There's a Frozen reference buried in here, so... kudos to whoever can find that)

“Welcome to Red Robin, my name’s Connor and I’ll be your server today, what can I get-”

Connor has said the same greeting a million times; he’s been working in the same location since he was sixteen, and even with the two years from his mission taken out, he’s spent four years working here. He’s never stopped right in the middle before, not even when he was new and nervous about everything, but it’s safe to say that he’s never seen _this_ particular person here before. His eyes meet the other man’s, and they steal his breath away. They’re the richest, darkest, most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen, and it’s probably an embarrassingly long time before he realizes what he’s doing and finishes: “-started for you today,” in a high, strained voice that makes him wince.

To his credit, the man doesn’t seem thrown at all, simply clearing his throat and looking to his friend who, unfortunately, seems to be more observant, looking between Connor and his friend with confusion.

“What would you like to drink, Arnold?” the man asks (and _of course_ he has a lovely voice, too; lovely voice, lovely eyes, what else could he have?), and Arnold smiles.

“Root beer, please!” he says, sounding squeaky and high-pitched and awkward in comparison to the man across the table.

“Of course,” Connor replies mechanically, jotting down the order. “And for you, sir?”

The man shakes his head. “I’ll just take water, please,” he says, and Connor would probably willingly listen to him read a phone book.

“Of course,” Connor repeats, folding up his notepad with practiced speed. “I’ll get those right out for you.”

“Thank you,” the man says, and then he smiles; Connor actually feels his heart stop.

“Of… of course.”

*****

“Oh my _gosh_ , Chris, I can’t- I can’t do it. You have to serve these people,” he says the minute he steps into the back. His friend, Chris, who is just beginning to tie on his apron, gives him an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, Con, you know I can’t.”

Connor moans, slumping against the wall. “I _know_ ,” he says, “but I just _can’t._ ”

“Are they really that awful?”

“What?” Connor straightens up, only to smile and sigh and go boneless against the support of the wall again. “No, not awful at all. He’s… he’s wonderful.”

“Oh my god,” Chris says, going stock still. “Are you… do you have a crush on a customer?”

Connor can feel his skin burning, all the way from beneath his collar up to the roots of his hair. “...maybe?”

Chris starts laughing.

“Hey, no, it’s not funny!” Connor whines, going over to smack him on the arm. “He’s really, really, _really_ cute.”

“He’s still just a customer, whoever he is,” Chris shoots back, still snickering as he gets ready to head out of the employee area. “And you don’t even know if he’s nice. You just know what he looks like.”

“I know…” Connor admits, “but he look so nice, too… And his _eyes,_  Chris, I’ve never seen eyes like his before.”

Chris purses his lips. “I hate to break it to you,” he says, “but all eyes are essentially the same, biologically speaking. There’s nothing really special about them. I mean, on a cellular level it’s just-”

“Oh, when did you get to be such a realist?” Connor says, shoving him towards the door. “Just let me be a romantic idiot in peace if all you’re going to do is spout _facts_.”

And Connor knows he’s being ridiculous, that Chris is right about everything, that this is not like him at _all_ , but if that man out there isn’t the most striking person Connor’s ever seen, he’ll- well, probably keep living life in hopes he’ll find someone better. It’s not even that the guy is hot (he certainly is, there’s no denying it, and he’s so far out of Connor’s league it isn’t even funny); there’s just something really, really memorable about him.

Connor sighs. “He probably isn’t even gay,” he says; it’s a cold comfort.

*****

“Oh my god,” Kevin says, dropping his head in his hands the moment their waiter walks away. “Oh my god, I…”

“Yeah, what was that?” Arnold asks, glancing at the guy’s retreating figure. “You, like, got lost in his eyes or something.”

“I did,” Kevin groans. “God, Arnold, his eyes… They're so _blue_. I couldn’t look away.”

“Um, blue’s just a color, buddy.” And, in Arnold’s personal opinion, blue eyes really aren’t that awesome, anyway. Brown eyes, though, that’s where it’s at. Naba’s brown eyes, specifically. He could get lost in- Hold on. “Did you just- you just met this guy. Do you _like_ him?”

“I…” Kevin looks up, leaning forward into his personal space, and Arnold has to lean back. His best friend is a little scary when he’s all intense and stuff. “I don’t know, Arnold. This has never happened before. I don’t even know what the heck just _happened_.”

“Uh, well, from here it looks like you had a moment with the waiter.”

“That’s not helpful!” Kevin hisses. “What do I do about it?”

Arnold shrugs. “I dunno, buddy,” he replies. “Wait for it to go away, I guess.”

Kevin’s eyes go wide, and Arnold has only a moment to realize he’s said the wrong thing before Kevin grabs his arm and says “I don’t want it to!”

“Oh. Well, _that_ ’s weird.”

“What? Weird? Why?”

“Because you’re kind of allergic to feelings, Kev.”

Kevin sits back, scowling. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you don’t really… um…” Arnold wracks his brain for an example, because Kevin sure isn’t going to believe him without one. He’s… particular that way. “When Naba made you watch _Titanic_ , what was your reaction?”

Kevin scoffs. “Jack should have climbed on the darn raft.”

“Okay, and _The Notebook_?”

“They shouldn’t have been in a relationship in the first place, and, honestly, when they didn’t hear from each other they could have just moved on with their lives.”

“ _Casablanca_?”

“Didn’t they all have bigger problems to worry about? I mean, come on: World War II, people.”

“ _Brokeback Mountain_?”

Kevin rolls his eyes. “They should have just gotten together, screw the consequences.”

“This is what I mean by ‘allergic to feelings’, Kev.”

“That’s ridiculous, Arnold. And what does that have to do with- _you know_?”

“Nothing really, except that it’s really, really weird for you to like a guy like that.”

“I’m- I don’t _like_ him; I’m not even into guys!”

Arnold gives him a look. “You’re not into _anybody_ , but you’re freaking out about the waiter.”

“He gave us his name,” Kevin replies, rolling his eyes. “You shouldn’t just call him ‘the waiter’.”

Arnold has an idea. “What was it, again? The guy’s name?”

Just like he expected, Kevin’s face goes all soft and dopey in a way he’s never seen before, and he almost laughs. “Connor,” Kevin replies, and he honest-to-God sighs, resting his chin in his hand.

“Kevin, you look like you’re in love with the guy,” he says, and Kevin goes scarlet.

“I- what are you talking about, that’s ridiculous! I’m not- I can’t be in _love_ with him, I just met him!”

“Whoa, hold on there, buddy, I didn’t say you actually _were_. I kinda just said that to make you mad, actually. But, uh… you’re not, uh, mad, obviously, and I think you’ve got a problem.”

With that, Kevin goes desperate again, and he clutches at the table with a white-knuckled grip. “What do I do, Arnold? You know more about this stuff than I do!”

Arnold snorts. “I’ve had _a_ girlfriend for six months. Come on, Kev, really?”

“I don’t know,” he says, “I don’t know what to do. Do you know how terrifying that is?!”

Then Arnold sees Connor heading their way, balancing a tray with their drinks in one hand. “Uh, Kevin?”

“What?”

“He’s coming back.”

“ _What_?!”

“Just, stay calm, stay calm,” Arnold says, holding out his hands placatingly, “it’s not going to do you any good to freak out. He’s just a guy, Kevin.”

“A guy who’s _doing things_ to me!”

“Shh, he’s coming over!”

“Oh my god, what do I do?”

“Just… I dunno, just thank him for the drinks!”

“Do I call him by his name or is that too creepy?”

Arnold opens his mouth to reply, but then Connor’s there, deftly handing over the root beer and the water, folding the tray under one arm. “All right, are we ready to order?” he asks cheerfully, whipping out his little order-taker thingy.

“Uh…” Arnold fully intends to let Kevin do all the talking, but his friend has gone slack-jawed, looking worse than a cartoon character with hearts in its eyes. “Um, chicken tenders for me, I guess. With fries. And, uh, Kevin?”

And suddenly, Kevin is back to his normal self, saying “I'll take a bacon cheeseburger with a salad, please,” smoothly and handing his menu to the waiter with a smile. “Italian dressing.”

“Of course!” the guy replies, beaming, and when Kevin says “Thank you, Connor,” Arnold swears he looks like he’s about to swoon. Maybe Kevin's crush isn't doomed after all.

*****

Connor is ninety percent sure he’s going to pass out in the men’s bathroom. That beautiful, wonderful individual (Kevin, apparently) remembered his _name_. And he’s so polite… Connor is honest-to-God going to have a panic attack in the bathroom in the middle of his shift if he doesn’t calm down.

“Deep breaths,” he says. “Deep, deep breaths. Goodness gracious, you don’t even know if he’s _gay_!”

_But if he is…_

“No,” Connor tells himself. “Things like _that_ only happen in movies, and books, and… and fairy tales. He’s just a customer; you’ve hardly said ten words to him. He said your name, yeah, but other than that, he doesn’t know you exist. Just… remember that.”

People like Kevin never know he exists.

*****

“Dude, Kevin, you gotta say something to him.”

“Like _what_?”

“Like ‘can I get your number?’ or ‘I think you’re hot.’ Or even ‘wanna come to my place? I could make it worth your while.’”

“ _Arnold!_ ” Kevin looks scandalized, and Arnold almost snorts root beer through his nose. “I don’t _say_ things like that!”

“Well, you could,” Arnold replies. “You’re hot enough to get away with it.”

Kevin actually chokes.

“But seriously, I think he likes you.”

“Likes me? How do you know?”

“Well, I dunno, the way he looks at you.”

“He looks at me?” His face does that thing again, and Arnold is starting to get weirded out.

“Yeah, _obviously_ , he had to take your order.”

Kevin scowls. “Not helpful, Arnold.”

“Sorry, sorry, I know. Just… let him know you’re interested.”

“How?”

“By saying ‘I’m interested.’ Or, I dunno, asking him out.”

“ _How_?!”

“Just ask him for drinks or something! I don’t know, Kevin, Naba asked me; I don’t have any experience with this!”

“But what if he says _no_?” And Kevin hisses it, like it’s the worst kind of profanity, and for a second Arnold is worried that his best friend is going to go crazy if he doesn’t get a date with this guy, until he sees just how much fear is in Kevin’s eyes.

“Wow… you’re actually worried about this, aren’t you?” he says, and Kevin nods sharply.

“I _hate_ this,” he says, balling his hands into fists, but then he sneaks a glance off towards where Connor disappeared, and Arnold’s pretty sure he doesn’t hate it as much as he says he does.

“Well, if he says no, which I’m pretty sure he won’t, then… then you could always ask somebody else.”

“But I don’t _want_ somebody else.”

Arnold nods, patting his friend’s arm placatingly. “I know, buddy, but if he says no you’ll forget about him eventually.”

And then, Kevin gives him a very strange look. It’s not like he’s angry with him (he’s seen that enough to recognize it, veiled or not), or that he’s sad or frustrated or anything. It’s… weird.

“If you weren’t with Naba,” he asks, “would you have said that about her?”

And if that just isn’t like a punch to the gut.

“No! No, of course not, Naba’s- wait. For- for _that_ guy?”

Now Kevin’s look is decidedly angry, and Arnold hurries to say “Not that there’s anything wrong with that guy; he seems really nice and all. Just… you don’t know him. At all.”

“I know,” Kevin replies. “But… I feel like I could.” There’s something about the way he says it that Arnold can’t quite put a name to but that he recognizes anyway, and right then and there he gives up all hope of convincing his friend to act normally.

“Okay,” he says, “that’s awesome, good for you buddy, but you’ve got to at least get his number first.”

Kevin closes his eyes, and for a second Arnold is convinced he’s finally pissed him off enough to… do something, he doesn’t know, but then Kevin squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath, and he says. “You’re right. Next time he comes by, I’ll just… I’ll ask.”

*****

“All right, here’s those meals for you, gentlemen,” Connor says briskly, determined to not make eye contact. He hands out the plates of food to Kevin and Arnold as fast as he can, high-tailing it back to the kitchen without even asking if they need anything. He is not going to risk another moment of eye contact with Kevin; it’s only going to make him wish for things he doesn’t have, and false hope doesn’t help anyone. It’s hard, though; the pragmatism of the move doesn’t make it suck any less, and Connor has to give himself a moment in the back to crush his hopes down and put on a proper customer service smile.

He refuses to let himself do anything he might regret. Cute strangers in restaurants are always simply that: strangers, and, if he somehow manages to find someone of his own one day, it’s not going to be through something this romantic and- no. It’s not romantic, it’s _silly_ , and it’s all in his head, anyway.

He’s just a customer.

*****

Arnold can actually feel Kevin’s disappointment as their server practically runs away, and he frowns. He was so sure that Connor was interested, but now…

“Arnold, what-”

“I dunno, buddy.”

Kevin turns to him, and the look on his face is the closest thing to heartbroken Arnold’s seen since their, well, _interesting_ mission.

“Did I… do something?”

Arnold winces. It’s not often that something can make Kevin doubt himself, and it’s never fun to see. “I don’t think so,” he replies. “I mean, I’m not, uh, great at social stuff or flirting or anything, but I don’t think you did anything bad.”

Kevin sighs, hiding his face in his hands. “Why is this happening to me?” he moans.  
Arnold can’t think of anything to do except pat his shoulder in sympathy and hope for the best.

*****

Connor congratulates himself on managing to avoid Kevin and Arnold’s table for most of their meal, managing to get refills and replace sides fast enough that he doesn’t actually have to talk to either of them. It feels strange, and he knows his tip will probably suffer because of it, but as long as he just keeps moving, he doesn’t feel too bad. His shift is over soon, anyway. Maybe he can get someone else to give them their check.

*****

Kevin’s tried three more times now to get Connor’s attention, to no avail. He’s starting to look desperate, and Arnold’s starting to get annoyed. It is kind of funny, though; years of watching girls (and guys, and other individuals, even) throw themselves at Kevin, and now the first person Kevin decides to pursue has decided to completely ignore him. It’s poetic justice.

“Arnold, what do I do?” he whines. Their glasses are both full, the fry boat is freshly refilled, and their plates are empty (so they can’t ask for sauces or anything).

“Uh… wait for him to bring the check?” This is getting ridiculous.

*****

“Here’s your check, gentlemen. I hope you have a lovely day.” Connor has his plan laid out: give these guys their check, dash back to the kitchen and procrastinate the last four minutes of his shift, then clock out before actually collecting it and trust Chris to be a better friend than he deserves. It’s a solid strategy, and a safe one, until he hears “Connor?” from the table he’s just left, and he has to turn and face the music.

“Yes, sir?” he says, keeping his eyes on the dirty dishes on the table. He wants to look up (all attraction aside, Kevin is absolutely beautiful, and who knows when he’ll get a chance to look at someone like him again?), but he knows for a fact that something awful and most likely incredibly embarrassing will happen if he makes eye contact again. But oh, does he want to look up.

“Um…” Kevin says, and _that_ ’s interesting, because he doesn’t really seem like the type of guy to stumble over his words; especially when those words are surely just a quick ‘thank you’ or… something.

Connor almost glances up, then, when he doesn’t continue. It’s an instinctual thing; it’s ingrained in his very nature to make polite eye contact, and he’s this close to ruining everything and screwing himself over when there’s a shattering sound from behind him, and he whips around to see a distraught woman covered in fruit punch and fragments of a drinking glass all over the floor.  
He throws a quick excuse over his shoulder and rushes to help clean up, half hating and half loving that his last chance to look was interrupted.  
A sharp pain shoots through his hand, and he looks down: there’s a shard of glass embedded in his finger. Connor bites his lip. Even when he’s trying to ignore him, Kevin is distracting.

 _Wait. What if never seeing him again is_ worse  _than this?_

_Oh good_ _Lord_ _._

*****

“Arnold, I- what do… there is literally nothing left to do," Kevin blurts out the moment Connor disappears into the back again. "He doesn’t want to talk to me, obviously. He wouldn’t even _look_ at me. What am I supposed to do with that?”

Arnold shrugs, beyond done with this. He has had enough of Kevin trying to get lost in this guy’s eyes _again_. “Buddy, I have no idea. I seriously thought he was into you.” He’s no love expert, but usually Arnold Cunningham can tell when people are flirting with Kevin (at least enough to know when not to intervene).

Kevin sighs miserably. “There has to be something… Arnold, I really want to talk to him.”

“I know, buddy,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“No, I _really_ want to talk to him. Really. I don’t know, this feels so weird. I… I don’t even know what I want, as long as I can see him again.”

“Awww,” Arnold says, mocking Kevin’s desperate goo-goo eyes. “Come on, Kev, there’s probably a million guys just like him. It’s not a big deal.” He doesn’t _want_ to be a jerk, but really, he can count the number of times he’s gotten Kevin’s undivided attention for a full lunch on one hand, and _apparently_ Connor-the-waiter is a tease and doesn’t want to talk to Kevin, and _Kevin_ can’t take a hint. “Will you just get over it already? Just because _one_ guy doesn’t bow down at your feet doesn’t mean that you’re in love with him or anything.”

Kevin blinks.

“I mean it, Kev, on a scale of things you should care about, from one to ten, this is less than a zero.” Okay, maybe not _less_ than a zero. It’s probably on the scale somewhere, but Arnold has never claimed to not exaggerate stuff. And he’s never claimed to not be jealous, either, but… he’s not. Obviously.

Kevin doesn’t respond, though; he stands up, straightening his blue button-up with a sharp tug, and walks away.

Arnold turns in his seat to watch him, mouth hanging open. “Where’re you _going_?" he asks.

Kevin ignores him.

“What the heck?” he whispers to himself. Kevin Price can be an asshole, but usually he doesn’t just flat out ignore him like that. Then he sees Connor at the entrance of the restaurant, bundled up in a warm coat and obviously on his way out. Kevin manages to get there just in time to grab his arm before he walks out the door. He says something to him, Arnold can’t really see, and Connor blushes red, which he _can_ see (and that's kind of impressive, considering how far away from the door he is). He says something in return, and Kevin ducks his head, quickly running one hand through his flawless hair.

Arnold wants to know what they’re saying.

Connor shakes his head a few times, seeming to shrink into the collar of his coat as Kevin continues to talk, then he says something that Arnold can immediately tell is ‘I’m sorry’. _Maybe he digs Kevin after all?_

Then Connor pulls out his phone, tapping it quickly and handing it over to his friend, and Arnold gasps.

“Kevin’s gonna get some!” he murmurs, watching with rapt attention.

Sure enough, Kevin types out something before handing the phone back and pulling his own out of his pocket.

Connor smiles at whatever’s on the screen, then looks up at Kevin and says something else.

Arnold wishes he could see Kevin’s reaction, but just then another server walks by, blocking his view. He curses, but the woman moves just in time for him to see Connor press a kiss to Kevin’s cheek before scurrying away.

He gasps, and Kevin seems frozen, not even moving for a good thirty seconds. When he heads back to the table, though, Arnold can see how he’s grinning from ear to ear.

“I got his number,” he announces as soon as he reaches the table. “And he kissed me.”

“I saw that,” Arnold says, only half frustrated now. He’s kind of jealous of how fast Kevin seemed to get this guy wrapped around his finger, but he’s never seen his friend look so… euphoric.

“He kissed me, Arnold,” he repeats, starry-eyed. “He _kissed_ me.”

“Yeah, buddy, I saw the whole thing.”

Kevin sighs dreamily, looking off in the direction of the door, and Arnold thinks that _finally_ he can start to focus on their bro-day.

But then Kevin’s face gains a look of absolute horror, and he lunges forward to clasp Arnold’s shoulders. “Oh my god,” he says, “you’re going to have to tell me how to go on a date!”

Arnold succumbs to the urge to smash his head into the table.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave kudos/comments if you liked it, or feel free to shoot me a message at my tumblr (greerian).


End file.
